


Two Bros, One Mission, Zero Planning

by baberainbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Just A Bunch of Fugitives in America No Need for Suspicion, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam and Steve Friendship, Steve lets Bucky know he will miss him very much in a very obvious way, The Most Bro Trip of All Time, Wanda and Natasha are Going on a Girl Trip, as in Clint is not Married or a Family Man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-01-05 13:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18367001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baberainbow/pseuds/baberainbow
Summary: "So is brooding, like, fun for you, dude?" Clint asks, palms drumming against the steering wheel. Barnes gives him a constipated look. "Y'know, when I'm in a bad mood, I just pet my dog. Or look at pictures of him.""Good for you," Barnes mutters, head thudding against the passenger window. "You just missed our exit, by the way."orNatasha and Wanda are tracking down traffickers. Sam and Steve are at the Wakandan Embassy in DC for a press release to change public opinion about the Accords. Clint and Bucky aresupposedto be holed up in a secure house in the middle of nowhere, but they instead embark on an unplanned, uncoordinated HYDRA attack because they don't like sitting around.This should be fine, right?





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> This Clint is not-canon to the MCU. He resembles more closely to the comics' portrayal of him. This occurs after Civil War when Team Cap is running from the law.

*  
Monday  
20:09 

They’re eating at a buffet. To be exact, it’s a Chinese buffet with friendly owners that hardly spared them a glance when they lurked into their restaurant in Baltimore. It’s practical, not too expensive, and very filling. No cameras, no credit cards, and no questions.

Wanda toys with some strands fraying the sleeve of her jacket. After she yanks out the rogue thread, she announces “I’m going to get some more rice.” 

Sam struggles with his chopsticks, and James snickers at him. Steve elbows him to knock it off. Natasha gives the three an unamused look and sips at her tea. Clint stuffs too many egg rolls in his mouth, but he’s not a quitter. Natasha gives him an unamused look as well. 

Wanda returns to the table, and Steve, sitting next to her, pulls out the chair and slides it back in once she’s seated. 

They’re quiet tonight. Jittery, sure. And it’s not that they don’t have anything to say, but it’s the nerves. The nerves of being in New York for the first time in almost a year. The creeping anxiety that Iron Man will blast through the window of this little restaurant with a squadron of agents right behind, ready to arrest them. 

Well, they won’t be in Maryland for long. Sam and Steve are heading to Washington DC. The Wakanda Embassy is giving them protection, and they will be speaking to journalists and legal experts about the Accords. It had to be Sam and Steve. Natasha and Wanda were too polarizing: Natasha gave the bird to Congress a few years ago and remains a controversial Avenger due to the leaked subject matter dispelled from her SHIELD data dump. Wanda technically is not a US citizen and her volatile and powerful abilities have aroused media pundits to excessively insists that weapons of mass destruction like her don’t get the same rights as everyone else. 

And, when it came to Clint and James... Clint would fumble over his words and was not the best person for a formal press conference of matters of high public interest. And well, James wasn’t “going on fucking camera no matter what.” As far as anyone else knew, he was still a fugitive hiding in Wakanda or god knows where else. 

Sam and Steve were an easy choice. The public loves The Falcon and Captain America: the veterans with hearts of gold. 

But, the others weren’t keen on sitting idle. With the Accords in action, HYDRA and other terrorist organizations have been able to regroup and spread without the Avengers keeping them in check. Without intervention, new bases and operations flourished like bacteria in a petri dish, spreading and multiplying. If the Accords wouldn’t allow registered heroes to pursue and squash them, the fugitives will. 

So, tomorrow, Natasha and Wanda will be heading to a small town in Virginia. Intelligence gathered from trusted sources and Natasha’s own research gives damning evidence that a HYDRA subsidiary group is trafficking weapons and people and then taking their bounty to what Natasha figures must be a secret headquarters nestled in a rural, unsuspecting town. 

Their mission consists of reconnaissance and locating the base and the individuals financing and running it. Once the location is affirmed, Natasha and Wanda will infiltrate and gather the information they need. That information will be sent to James for decryption and translation. 

Because, James will have plenty of time for this. Because, he and Clint will be stuck together for a week. Fearing that James would be easily recognized, they are heading to a safehouse in a town located a couple miles outside of Philadelphia. 

They decided to come--instead of stay in the safe harbor of Wakanda-- because they are being ‘stubborn asses who have a dumb case of FOMO’ that want to ‘jeopardize their stupid selves for no good reason at all except to work on a computer all fucking day because what the fuck I am a goddamn American Steve, and it is my god-given _right_ to just sit at a house and do nothing’ even if ‘Steve and Natalia have their panties in a wad about it and I haven’t been on American soil in years and so fucking whatever if I have to live with Barton in a fucking house in bumfuck nowhere then I will!’ 

Or something like that. 

There had been a public argument in front of Natasha, Clint, Wanda, and Sam about it. And then back in their Wakandan home, another blow up. They settled down after some _stern conversation_ that Steve got over it and wouldn’t pitch a fit about James coming to America. 

“Clint has to come with you, please,” he said to James. “I’d feel so much better. I know you can handle yourself, but just please, for me?” 

It’s not for long anyways. 

In a week, T’Challa will send a cloaked jet to pick each group up and head back to Wakanda to report their findings, reconvene, and see where to go forward. Or maybe, stay for a bit. It depends. 

All they have to do is get through one week. They’ve got fake IDs, car registrations, Wakandan phones, smart cars made by Shuri, and Wakandan tablets similar to an iPad. 

They’ve mostly changed their looks: Natasha’s gone blonde and wears brown eye contacts. Wanda has dyed her hair black and chopped it off to her shoulders. Steve has dyed his hair brown and has amassed an impressive beard on his face. Clint is sporting a trimmed beard as well and has gone brunette. James and Sam remain mostly unchanged. 

One week. That’s all. 

As they finish their dinner, Natasha dabs her mouth with a napkin. “Okay, for tomorrow: let’s wake up at 0600, and meet in the lobby at 0615. They’ll have a complimentary breakfast buffet. I know, another buffet, but still. I've forwarded the schematics Shuri sent me about our individual cars. Sam, Steve: Shuri says your car to the embassy arrives at 0700. The rest of us should be heading out by then. But, now let’s just get back for an early turn in.” 

Steve nods. Usually, it would be him giving out orders like this. But he’s no Captain anymore. This is Natasha’s territory: logistics, flying under the radar, and stealth. 

Natasha leaves an a hundred dollar bill on the table as they leave. They all walk separately to the hotel down the block and enter two at a time. Once inside, they’re fine. 

James already compromised their security footage. He secured one room with a fake ID and then hacked into their system to secure two other rooms. Wanda opened the doors for them, using her red streams of magic to tinker the lock open. 

As a gentleman, James gave The Girls his room since it was a double. He managed to secure another double for Clint and Sam to stay in. No one needs to know he got himself and Steve a nice king sized bed. Wanda gives a knowing look as she unlocks their room for the night, blushing.

*

Clint and Barnes don’t really know each other.

Like, okay they’ve met. They greet each other in the morning. They eat meals in the same vicinity. One time, they sat on the same couch to watch a Wakandan version-of-soccer game. 

But, to be real, they don’t really talk. Or know much about each other besides what others have said. 

“I think you’ll get along, fine,” Nat told him the day before they left for Baltimore. “He’s quiet, but he’s very thoughtful. I learned a lot from him.” 

Clint had blown out a raspberry in a sigh and thumped his head on the table. “Is our mission to secretly become friends? Did you compartmentalize that?” 

“Don’t pout.” Natasha gave him one of those lopsided smirks that usually indicate that she thinks something is funny in an endearing way. “If that’s how you want to look at it, then yes. There’s some fields behind the safehouse; if you ask James to shoot with you for a bit, I’m sure he would. He’s not gonna initiate, Clint.” 

Now, he’s sharing a room with Sam. Sam’s cool. Sam, Steve, and Clint used to go shoot darts at bars while chugging beers and watching football back before the Accords shit happened. Sam is the kind of guy that would drive out to the middle of nowhere with a tank of gas if you needed it, tease the absolute hell outta you for it, then make sure you got home fine on the drive back. A good guy. 

He wishes Sam wasn’t so damn likable. 

Barnes just doesn’t give any indication to whether or not he is likable. Natasha says he’s thoughtful. Wanda thinks he’s sweet. Steve is his best friend, so whatever he says is probably overstated. Sam says he’s an asshole, but he and Barnes have a frenemy thing going so that’s probably a little true. 

Clint doesn’t have anything to say. They’re not frenemies or best friends. Not really. 

On the ride over in T’Challa jet, he and Steve kept to themselves in a corner playing some card game and reading books. Like boring people do. He barely acknowledged Clint at all. 

“He’s a bit shy,” Natasha told him, a few days after Barnes emerged from cryostasis with Shuri and Wanda’s help. “He’ll come around.” 

He hasn’t come around. 

Well, to be fair, Clint hasn’t made an effort either. Not consciously; they just never really had much to say to each other. 

_That’s gonna change, isn’t it?_ he thinks to himself. 

Clint also doesn’t get why he and Barnes aren’t sharing a room right now. That doesn’t make a lot of sense if they’re supposed to be freakin’ glued together going forward for a week. God, he’s gonna avoid Clint till the last minute, isn’t he? 

“No offense, dude. But who decided the room situation?” he asks, flopping onto his bed. He’s done readying for bed, and now he’s snuggling himself up under the covers. 

Sam’s walking back from the bathroom in a towel and he digs through his duffle for some night-time clothes and his toiletry bag. He hasn’t showered yet; he’s just a proactive guy. “Barnes. Why?”

Clint makes a ‘uhdunuh’ sound. “I just think he’s avoiding me till the last second, huh. Like, wouldn’t it make sense for you and Cap to share? And me and Barnes to? Because we’re all...pairs now? Why are Cap and Barnes sharing?” 

“Huh?” Sam says. He looks at Clint up and down and then blows out a breath of air. “You don’t get why Cap and Barnes are sharing?” 

Clint continues, “I know they’re best friends. I get it. And you’re cool, dude. I wasn’t trying to say I’m not cool with us sharing. Just an observation.” 

“Yeaaahhh. They’re friends. That’s why they’re sharing. Totally.” He unfolds a pair of sweatpants from his bag. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Clint agrees. 

Sam gives him one last look-- which, for some reason, looked confused-- and heads back to the bathroom with his necessities and clothes in tow. Clint hears the door shut and the shower squeaking.

*

Buck flops on their bed, kicking off his shoes. “Nice room, huh?” he asks, smirking. “Bed’s real soft.”

“You did good,” Steve says, walking to the window and pulling down the blinds. He then joins Buck on the bed, laying down on his back next to him. 

“I keep thinking about tomorrow,” he says softly. “I’m worried it won’t work out the way we hope it will.” 

Steve can show a lack of faith to him. They can be vulnerable and open with each other. 

Buck tutts at that and leans into Steve’s arms so he can be held. Steve wraps his arms around him and sighs. Buck tells him, “We’ll figure it out.” 

Steve bows his head to rest on Buck’s shoulder. Buck knows that Steve’s still not the happiest camper that he’s here because it would have been smarter to stay in Wakanda. They both know that. But, asking Buck to just sit back _one more time_ just wasn’t gonna fly anymore. And Steve loves that they get some time together. It’s their first time in America in over seventy years where they’re not trying to kill each other. He’ll enjoy it. 

“Are you ranting at me in your mind?” Buck asks him, almost teasingly. “Yelling at me?” 

“No,” Steve whispers softly. “I’m glad you’re here. Nat and I were worried, yeah. But are you happy you’re here?” 

“Yeah, champ. I am.” 

“Then I’m happy.” 

Buck snickers, and he squeezes Steve’s hand.. “You weren’t happy a week ago. Coulda sworn steam was gonna blow out of your ears, pal. You surprised Natalia.” He kisses the the side of Steve’s head. “I kinda like it when you get all fussy. Like you’re blowing up like a balloon. Reminds of me of you back then. A goddamn Chihuahua yapping his head off.” 

Steve snorts. “Sometimes I think you like when I’m mad. Like you think it’s funny.” 

He doesn’t mean it. Steve knows Buck cares when he’s upset or truly angry. But their fight from last week...he could see how that amused Buck. 

“I think it’s funny when you think you’re the boss of me,” Buck says, and he bites his lip to muffle his laugh when Steve huffs at that. “I always coulda just flown on out here on my own. Not said a damn thing to you or anyone. You wouldn’t have liked that even more, huh?” 

“Nope,” Steve says, and he nuzzles his face into Buck’s neck again. He kisses it a little. 

“I’m not on anyone’s leash anymore, Steve. I decide what I do.” He doesn’t mean to choke up at that, but his voice cracks. “You can hitch a fit, but I’m the boss of myself, now.” 

Steve clutches him. “I know, honey. I know. I love you.” 

Buck tilts his head back to show more of his neck. “I love you, too.” Steve peppers more kisses to his neck. “I mean, sure I’ll be with Clint in some fucking safehouse. But I’m glad I’m here.” 

Steve laughs this time. “You and Clint don’t talk much. That’s gonna change.” 

Buck scoffs. “I’ll be fine. He seems like a good guy. You like him, and that’s enough for me.” 

Steve hums and kisses up to Buck’s cheek. “Honey?” he whispers. 

“Mhm?” 

All soft in Buck’s ear he asks, “Can I have you?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, honey,” he says softly. “And after, let’s get in the tub. It’s real big, and we’ll get it real warm. Act like we’re in a hot tub?” He rubs his cheek against Steve’ beard like a cat against a leg. “Hm?” 

 

Steve kisses his forehead then rubs their noses together. Buck can’t stop petting his face. “That sounds nice.”

*

“You think Barnes is like, cool?” Clint asks. Sam almost inhales on his toothbrush if the choking chortle Sam makes is any indication.

“He’s an asshole.” 

“But like in a fun, cool way?” 

Wilson spits into the sink. “Is Cap fun and cool? Not really. But he’s Steve. He’s got redeeming qualities. He’s all-around good guy that can kick ass. Then you got Barnes who is a dick. I will say that he is justified in being an dick though. Because, well-” 

“The stuff?” 

“Yeah, that stuff. I don’t know, man. He’s uncharted territory for me.” Sam hits the bathroom lights off and strides over to his bed. “Never really talks to anyone but Steve anyways. Or the Girls. He’s pretty guarded.” 

Sam’s sweatpants look comfy. “Those sweatpants look comfy. Where’d you get them?” 

“Goodwill in 2012.” 

Impressive. 

“Is he shy?” Clint asks, back on the subject at hand. “Or is it that he just doesn’t wanna talk. Ever.” 

Sam shrugs. “Guess you’re gonna find out.” 

Clint rubs his eyes. “Wanna watch some football?” 

Sam throws the remote his way.

*

“Fuck,” Steve grits and his hips jerk, trying to get in deep as he cums. His thrust lifts Buck’s ass off the mattress until he finally collapses down, nuzzling and mouthing all over Buck’s face. His mouth is open, his eyes closed, and his face is so red. He looks so vulnerable and silly, and Buck loves his dumb orgasm face with all his heart. “Uhn.”

Steve gives an extra thrust, just so Buck moans. He thinks he’s rearing to go again because Steve just whispers, “Buck, the things you _do_ to me.” 

“God.” _Why does he say stuff like that?_ He wiggles down on Steve and clenches tight in retaliation. Steve gives a low whine. Buck came between their stomachs only minutes ago, and as they cling to each other tight it smears all over their skin. It was a real nice time, all missionary and simple. “Fuck.” 

Steve continues thrusting gently, almost tentatively. Buck clutches his shoulders and pulls him down. “You going? You going?” he whispers, all needy and demanding. “What you doing, huh?” 

“I wanna,” he says. 

“Get it,” Buck tells him. “Get it twice.” 

Steve groans and fucks him hard. He’s licking and mouthing all sloppy over his neck. “ _Buck_.” 

“Get it from me,” he hisses, delirious in lust and love. “Fucking _get it from me_.”

*

“There’s no way they’re gonna make that punt.”

“I don’t know, Wilson. It’s only thirty-nine yards.” 

“Ten bucks says they don’t.” 

“Dealio.”

*

“Shit,” he sighs, tugging at Steve’s hair.

“Buck,” is all he can muster. “Uh. Fuck, I’m gonna, honey. You’re gonna make me cum.” 

“Go ‘head. It’s all good, baby. Go’n do it, get it all in me,” he says, throwing his neck back so Steve can nestle his face there, panting and licking at Buck’s skin. 

Steve bout cramps his legs, toes curling as he cums again. Buck rubs his back, calms him down from the high shushing and sweetly rambling. Buck hasn’t cum again yet, but he feels it coiling in his gut. He feels Steve hot in him, making him wet and slick and good. 

“All worn out?” he says softly, petting at his hair. “Good?” 

Steve hums at him, kissing his neck and shoulder. “Mhm. You need me to keep...?” he asks, thrusting his hips. 

Buck shakes his head, and Steve pulls out. Buck motions him to put his chest closer, almost like he’s sitting in Buck’s lap. Buck starts stroking himself, mouthing at Steve’s chest, sucking at his nipples, and smacking the underside of his tit. Steve strokes his hair, detangling it with his fingers as Buck cums: croaking and shaking, face between his breasts. 

“Oh, honey,” he sighs. “Steve, you fucking _kill_ me.” 

Steve clambers on top of him fully, and he shoves his tongue down Buck’s throat. They neck and pet at each other for a few minutes before Buck pulls away. 

“Hey,” Buck pats his ass. “You gonna carry me into that tub?” 

“Mhm. Is your shoulder hurting?” he whispers, pecking all obnoxious over his nose and cheeks. 

Buck shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m telling you, this new arm doesn’t hurt. Barely notice it.” 

“Good. That makes me glad,” Steve sighs against his mouth. “I’m gonna lift you up.” 

Steve instructs Buck to hold onto him like a monkey to a tree. He walks them to the bathroom and sets Buck down on the lip of the tub. “See? It’s all big.” 

The water is warm straight from the faucet. It takes a while to fill up but Buck and Steve brush their teeth and, like the responsible people they are, take folded pajamas out of their bags and set them on the counter. 

Buck holds Steve in the tub. They don’t play with each other much; instead, they are efficient with washing their hair and soaping themselves up.

*

“That call was bullshit.”

“Totally, man,” Clint agrees.

*

When they’re dried and proper for bed, they snuggle in.

“Honey, I’m gonna miss you,” Buck whispers. He’s half way on top of Steve, and they’re holding hands. He’s a sucker for hand holding.

“I’ll miss you the second you leave,” Steve says, solemn and serious. 

Buck knocks his ankle against the inside of Steve’s leg. “I’m better company than Wilson. Sorry you have to be stuck with him.” 

Steve laughs at that and tickles Buck in the ribs. 

Buck nudges him back, and then they go back to being all cuddly and sweet. Buck listens to Steve breathing, slow and even. He figures he’s about asleep when Steve chuckles to himself. 

“Hm, what is it?” he asks. 

Steve squeezes Buck’s hand. “Y’know, I don’t think Clint knows about us.” 

Buck lifts his neck a little to stare at Steve in disbelief. “What?” 

Steve shrugs, and Buck rests back down. “I mean, we’ve never told anyone explicitly. Natasha figured it out herself, Wanda reads emotions and put two and two together. Sam knows because he caught us necking in Wakanda that one time. But Clint? I don’t think he knows.” 

Buck frowns to himself. “Well, I’m not gonna say anything. He can figure it out himself.” 

Steve laughs again.

*

Natasha washes her face mask off and dabs her face with a towel. She steps out into the bedroom where Wanda’s already in bed, watching a reality show on the TV. The lights are all off, but the glow of the screen is bright enough to be a lamp itself.

“You’re right. That stuff makes my face feel all tingly,” she remarks, nodding at Wanda as she crosses the room to her bed. “My pores are breathing.” 

Wanda smiles. “I’ll have to buy you another packet soon. They sell them at all the drugstores.” 

“Druh-g stores. Not droog-stores,” she corrects, crawling under her covers. 

“Druh-g stores,” she repeats, looking at Natasha.

“Yeah, just like that," and she nods. Wanda smiles at her, pleased. Natasha remembers the day she once strolled into Wanda's bedroom at the Avengers HQ and gave her "The Spy Talk." 

"The English language is a cluster fuck, Wanda. The vowels cannot make up their minds on how they want to be pronounced,” she had said. "But, if you want to blend in, you can't stand out. It took me a while to lose my accent. It's not easy. But nothing is. Not in this line of work. You never know when it will come in handy...the importance of not leaving a mark on people. Not to give anyone suspicions or any reason to look twice. You never know."

Well, they know now that the time has come. 

And tonight, she says "Well, look at you. You’re really starting master the American accent. I’m really impressed.” 

"I have a great teacher." Wanda looks back at the TV. Natasha follows her gaze: a commercial for tampons is playing, and the woman on the screen is dancing in an empty yoga studio while wearing white leggings. “Yet, I am nervous about tomorrow,” she tells Natasha, watching the woman pirouette. “About all of us. I’m scared they will take me back underwater if they find me.”

Natasha keeps her face blank, but her heart breaks. She remembers Steve, enraged, carrying a pale Wanda in his arms as they broke her out with the others. Wanda had collapsed. 

“That fucking collar restricted her breathing. Those fuckers weren’t feeding her with the collar on, Nat. They fed her with through an IV. I’ll kill them,” Steve had gritted through his teeth as they traveled back to Wakanda on T’Challa’s quinjet. Wanda was sleeping, curled in a ball across some of the seats, the purple bruises on her neck stretching up to her chin. He clenched his fists opened and closed, like there was an invisible stress ball in his palm. “They hurt her.” 

“I won’t let that happen,” Natasha promises to her now. 

Wanda clutches the quilt under her hands. “I don’t know what happened with Steve and Stark, and I don’t have to know the details because I’ve seen its results. But, what I don’t understand is why Stark left me there. Left us all there underwater. One day we all live together, the next it’s like we were never a family. And I know Stark was there at the prison: I felt his presence. I don’t know if I hate him, Natasha. Do you think he hates me?” 

Natasha doesn’t have an answer for that. So, she offers, “I can’t speak for him. But, we love you. Steve, James, Sam, Clint and I love you, Wanda. And one day, maybe, this mess will be cleared up. But, until that day comes, let’s fight against what’s wrong in the way we can.” 

Wanda swipes at a tear that ran across her cheek, and then she laughs. 

“What’s so funny?” Natasha asks, brows furrowed. 

Wanda wipes at her eyes. “I just remembered how James and Clint are going to be living in a house together for a week. That’s a funny pair.” 

Natasha smiles. “Yes, they are.” She rests her head on her pillow and draws the covers over her shoulders.

Wanda continues, “I don’t know if Clint knows about James and Steve. Does he?” 

Natasha doesn’t know. “I don’t think so. But, I’m sure Clint will figure it out eventually. I mean, we’ve only been on the run for three hundred and fifteen days. He just needs more time.” She rubs her feet over the cool spots at the end of the bed and yawns. “I’m gonna turn in. You can keep the TV on; it won’t bother me. Goodnight, Wanda.” 

“Goodnight,” she says back, looking at the TV. Wanda lowers the volume and watches another commercial, this one for a fancy car racing across miles of mountain roads. How fitting. 


	2. Tuesday

*

Tuesday

Natasha’s body wakes her up automatically at 05:15. It might be the nerves or the fact that she’d freaked herself out on sleeping late when she was the one who set up the wake-up time.

She rolls over and grabs her special phone.

Shuri sent her an email around 0300, reiterating the schematics of the cars. She squints at her message until her eyes get used to the bright screen. She types back a quick thanks before sitting up and staring at the wall as she wakes up so more. 

She quietly unzips her duffle and steps out of her nightgown. The night before she planned her outfit, so she grabs her jeans and starts to put hem up. She has to hop a bit to pull them up.

“Nmm?” Wanda hums from her bed. She shuffles in the sheets. 

“Sorry. You can go back to sleep; I’m early,” she explains, zipping the jeans up. “Got a half hour at least.” 

“Uh hun,” Wanda mumbles, rolling over. “Okay.” 

The room’s still dark in a comforting, enticing way that makes Natasha want to curl back under the covers. She still clips on her bra and puts on a t-shirt. It’s a t-shirt from a thrift store from a Virginian college that helps validate her new persona. She slips into some (indulgently) fuzzy socks and some old sneakers. 

Using her phone’s flashlight, she makes sure she’s all packed up. It’s not that she’s brought too much to account easily for, but she knows better to presume anything. 

“I’m gonna go eat breakfast,” she tells Wanda, even if she’s too sleepy to absorb it. “Make sure you’re all packed, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Wanda croaks, cuddling in on herself. 

Natasha leaves her be and leaves the room. She takes the elevator down to the lobby’s dining area. Nobody pays any attention to her; she looks like any other exhausted traveler taking advantage of a complementary breakfast. 

She grabs a large table that’s visible enough for the others to find her, but it’s too off to the side for anyone to really pay attention to it. 

Natasha blows on her coffee to cool it before she takes a sip. “God, I hope this works,” she whispers to her mug.

*

“Really?” Steve mumbles groggily into his pillow. Buck flicks his ear again. “ _Honey_.”

Buck snickers. “Mornin’, baby.” He plasters himself to Steve’s back and kisses the back of his neck. “Mmph.” 

Steve covers his hand over Buck’s, and he sighs all content. “Time s’it?” he asks, keeping his eyes adamantly closed. 

“Early as fuck,” Buck says, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder. He reaches over Steve and fumbles for a phone. “Or, 05:20.” 

“Hm,” Steve hums. 

“Gotta be getting up soon,” Buck croons, snuggling in tighter. 

“Yeah?” Steve says back sleepy, placant in his hold. “Wanna cuddle for a bit?” 

“Mhm,” Buck murmurs into his shoulder. 

Steve twists his neck back a bit and puckers his lips. His eyes are still closed so he’s not sure if he’s aiming correctly. Then, Buck’s mouth covers over his quickly, and they both sigh. They neck for a little bit, warm and tangled up together in bed. 

Steve’s alarm on his phone starts buzzing, and Steve has to finally open his eyes. He blinks to acclimate to the dark, and then he presses the ‘Stop’ button a little too aggressively so the beeping stops. “Ugh.” 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. He sighs and rolls away. Steve makes a pitiful grabby-hands motion at him, trying to persuade him back into a cuddle. Bucky tuts and climbs out of bed. “I know, I know. C’mon, let’s get dressed.” 

Steve groans into his pillow before he finally resigns himself to getting out of bed, rubbing at his eyes. “Think the time zones got me all funny,” he gripes, sitting at the edge of the bed to pull off his sweatpants. 

“You’re always funny,” Buck says, and he puts on a fresh shirt. Steve doesn’t even snort or scoff. He just shrugs like that’s a fair assessment. “You know what would also funny?” he prompts.

Steve tugs off his t-shirt. “What?” 

“If we go wake up Barton and Wilson. Make sure they’re up on time,” he says, shit-eating grin on his face. 

Steve’s eyes twinkle a bit. “Sam will kill us.” He stands. “We should go do that.” 

Buck laughs and folds his pajamas up and places them into his duffle. “Yeah, we should.” He unrolls a fresh set of socks and puts them on. “Honey, your shirt’s on inside out.” 

Steve frowns and looks down. “Oh.”

*

Barnes and Cap somehow are in the room. They are both assholes because they proceed to turn the overhead light on.

“Up! Up and at ‘em!” Cap says, almost cheerily like a total _dick_. “Go get his pillow. No, Buck, I think Clint’s in the left bed.” 

Sam audibly curses into his pillow. “If you fucking come near me!” he slurs. “Don’t!” 

Barnes yanks the pillow Clint’s smothered over his face to block out the light. He burrows under his covers. These bastards are probably enjoying this. They suck _ass_.

Clint blindly feels around for his phone. It’s 05:48. 

“Nat said we could sleep until six!” he whines, like Natasha is their mother and she will be most displeased her sons have been unruly. Cap and Barnes most certainly would not have dared this with the Girls. 

“I am giving you ten minutes to acclimate. Wilson is collateral.” Barnes says all matter of fact. Sam makes an audible squawk from his bed, to which Barnes kindly adds, “Oh, get over it.” 

He peeks his head out from under his covers, and there the two assholes are in their shining glory. Captain America, the champion of justice _Clint’s ass._ They’re dressed and packed, and they are the absolute worst thing to see this early. “You two are _dicks_.” 

Sam throws a pillow at Barnes that he catches before impact. He looks like he’s considering using this pillow as a weapon of mass retaliation, but Cap takes it before any such reciprocation occurs. 

“Alright, let’s go get breakfast,” Cap says and they make their way to the door. They leave the over head light on like DICKS.

*

“That was funny,” Buck whispers, as they close the door to Wilson and Barton’s room. “So grumpy.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” Steve says and nudges Buck in the side. Buck elbows him right back. 

They take the elevator down to the lobby. Natasha waves them down from her table by the breakfast area. They leave their bags with her and go to the buffet. Steve takes their piled-up plates to the table while Buck goes to fix them some coffee. 

“Is someone going to tattle to me this morning?” she asks once both of them are seated. “Because I just got a very colorful and confused text from someone.” 

She presents the screen: WTFUCK!! FCUK CAP AND FUCK BRNES!!! NAT KILL THEMFOR ME PLSSSS BBY

Buck slathers butter on his pancake. “We all know there was no way he’d be here at six fifteen without intervention. Getting up earlier builds character. Pass the syrup, please.” 

Natasha pulls her phone away and gives him a side-eye. 

Steve and Buck eat from their stacks of food, and Natasha watches them with a quiet intensity like she’s an anthropologist studying the eating habits of the supersoldier. Buck considers Natasha’s own plate: the remnants of a muffin and some yogurt. Comparing her breakfast to the size of his may distort how tiny it seems, but you’d think all that brainpower Nat’s using would require some more calories. 

“I ate two slices of toast with jam and hashbrowns, as well James,” she says nonchalantly, picking at her muffin. He wonders if her secret power is fucking mind-reading or if he needs to work on his poker face. “Don’t project on me, now.” 

They sit in silence for another few minutes, drinking their coffee and finishing their meal. 

Natasha decides to put Buck in check once Steve’s offered to refill their coffees and has left with three empty mugs. 

Natasha licks yogurt from the back of her spoon in the most intimidating way possible. “James, Clint means a great deal to me,” she tells him in Russian. “While we all know he’s going with you to keep you company and to keep you safe, I expect you to protect him as well. Do not push him away. He really likes you.” 

He wipes his mouth and replies in the same tongue, “Always so blunt, darling, about things that don’t need to be said.” He puts his fork down. “I will not baby him, and I will not avoid him. We are battle buddies, now.” 

Natasha is pleased with that answer. “Good. I know this is not supposed to be fun, but don’t be miserable the whole time.” 

Steve returns with fresh hot drinks. 

Natasha rips a packet of Splenda and pours it into her drink. She continues to speak in Russian, even though Steve is back. “Did you have a good night’s rest?” she says, cracking a small smile over the lip of the mug. 

Buck nods and takes a sip of his coffee. “And you?” 

“I slept well.” She gives Buck a leering look. “I understand you’ll miss him. But, no phone calls. No sexting. No personal video chat. It’s too risky even on this tech. Shuri’s got access to all communication, anyways. So for her sake, at least try to last a week.” 

Buck places his hand over Steve’s and purrs, “Don’t worry, darling. We got a lot out of our system last night. And a little this morning.” 

Natasha raises her mug in a salute, and Buck matches it. They throw back a shot of coffee in tandem. Steve looks on, face red. He can tell what Buck said just by the smugness of his smile. 

“Good morning,” comes from behind. It’s Wanda. She looks very tired, and without her typical dark makeup she looks younger. The new black haircut makes her look paler. She looks like anybody else. “We don’t have to show a roomkey?” 

Natasha shakes her head. “It’s complementary. Leave your bag here. The muffins are good.” 

Wanda puts her bag in the seat next to Steve. 

“She’s been working on her accent,” Buck remarks. “It’s better.” 

Steve has his upper body turned, watching Wanda as she goes through the buffet. 

Buck knows that Steve views Wanda almost like his own brood. He’s so very protective of her. It’s funny though because Wanda could kick Steve’s ass with the flick of her wrist and can easily handle herself, but Steve’s very much ‘fuck that’ and watches her like a hawk. 

Natasha told him about Steve finding Wanda in the SuperMax prison underwater. She had never seen him so angry. After they’d removed it from her neck, he’d shredded Wanda’s collar apart with his bare hands, the hot wires scorching his fingers. 

Buck rubs his palm. “Honey, I think she can get some pancakes on her own.” 

Steve hums at that and faces forward. Natasha has a teasing smirk. 

“‘Honey’?” she whispers. 

Buck gives her a look that dares her to make fun of his choice of affectionate terms. He will defend his right to call Steve ‘honey’ to the fucking end. “Would you rather I call him ‘darling,’ instead?” 

Natasha would not prefer that. Buck would never be so foolish to say otherwise, but Natasha Romanov can be quite jealous and childish of what she claims is hers. 

By the time Wanda’s back at the table, Natasha’s stacked her finished plate on top of Steve’s. It’s 06:15 on the dot when Wilson leaves his bag next to Natasha’s seat. “Where’s Barton?” Buck asks, but Wilson replies with a finger. 

Clint arrives to the table at 06:20 with his sweatshirt inside out and drops off his unzipped duffle next to Sam’s and mutters “coffee, coffee, coffee” as he heads to the buffet. 

“That’s better time that I would have thought,” Wanda mutters to herself.

At 06:40, they are all finished and taking in their last moments before they delve into a new mission. Their tablets receive an alert that their cars are incoming. 

Buck folds his napkin back on the table and stands. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he says, though no one asks. Steve follows him.

As he turns back, Natasha holds up five fingers: five minutes. 

They lock the bathroom door, and Buck presses Steve against it. He pecks at his mouth in a quick succession of desperate little kisses. “Honey,” he murmurs against his lips. 

This is not a kiss goodbye. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it is not a kiss goodbye..

“I love you,” they tell each other, hands roaming and clutching all over their bodies. “I love you.” 

The internal clock Buck has tells him when it’s time to separate, so he pulls away. He strokes Steve’s cheek and fixes his hair to be more presentable. “So handsome.” 

Steve does the same for him. “Well, you look okay, I guess,” he teases. 

Buck pulls him close and whispers in his ear, “Don’t do anything dumb. Not till we’re back in Wakanda. Save your stupid up till then. I’ll miss you.” 

“Be safe,” Steve tells him, demands of him. 

They kiss one last lingering time before Steve unlocks the door, and they head to the lobby. The rest of the group is sitting there, apart. James reminds himself to revert the security system back on once he’s in the car with Clint. 

“Group hug?” Wanda offers. “I will miss you all.” 

They group hug.

*

Shuri enhanced the cars herself, making them easy to blend in while still technologically advanced. She sent them their prospective car the day before so they would be able to recognize it easily. The three cars are set to drive automatically in intervals to then stop in front of the hotel. They can still be driven manually. In Clint’s case, their car will allow manual operation once they’ve reached the highway.

The Girls’ car arrives first. Looking at it, you’d think it was just a dinged up grey Ford Escape with West Virginia plates. There’s even a sticker on the back windshield and dingy trinkets on the front dashboard. No one would realize the car bulletproof and advanced enough to cloak itself and be completely silent. 

She provided fake registration and insurance as well. Natasha’s new driver’s license says she is Nancy Robinson from Richmond. Wanda is officially Wendy Meyers hailing from Charlottesville. Their names are generic enough that a Google search would come up with too many results to ping them down.

Natasha tends to go hard when it comes to making a new identity. From wardrobe, appearances, accents, and papers she is thorough. She even got Wanda and her some fake credit cards and checking accounts. “It looks suspicious if you have an empty wallet. You need to seem like you have a background. People notice, consciously or not.” 

Clint kisses Natasha’s cheek before she and Wanda exit the lobby to enter their car. “Bye, Nancy,” he says, and she winks at him. He watches them get into their car. Natasha spares him a smile as she hops in the front seat and straps in. 

Right on time, Sam and Cap’s car that arrives next. It’s a sleek, black sedan. Inside is a Wakandan Ambassador waiting for them. He fistbumps Cap and Sam before they leave. 

Barnes and Cap hug very briefly before Cap and Sam head out to their car. 

Their car drives away as quickly as it arrived. 

“Huh,” Clint says, now it’s down to the two of them. “Our car is pretty cool, huh?” 

Their car is pretty cool. It’s disguised as a black pick up truck with Pennsylvania plates. 

“The stereo system is lit,” Shuri assured him. 

“Yeah,” Barnes says blankly.

*

Watching Steve go hurt like a son of a bitch. It’s almost like a little part of him is attached to Steve, and the further they are away from each other, their link stretches and pulls tight. It hurts.

Their car arrives, and he doesn’t have the time to mull over it. 

“Can I drive?” Barton asks, but gives no time for Buck to respond. He’s already out the door and opening the driver’s side door. Barton throws his duffle into the backseat haphazardly. 

Buck settles in the passenger seat. He keeps his bag at his feet. “Let’s go,” he says. Barton drives them off. Well, sort of. The car is programmed to take them to the interstate before they will have to drive it manually. Clint keeps his hands on the steering wheel regardless. 

As the car lurches ahead, Buck watches the city pass him. 

He disconnects from the hotel’s security system and reviews any data to make sure nothing out of the ordinary (or sighting) has been recorded. He slips his tablet into his bag, and he closes his eyes. 

“So, do you want me to call you by your fake name? To get in the habit of it?” Barton asks the second he’s almost fallen back asleep. “You can call me Clyde if you want.” He looks away from the road and lowers his sunglasses. “Name’s Bond. Clyde Bond.” 

Natasha gave him that last name for their documents after he begged for it. Buck gets the reference but thinks it’s unnecessary and a bit gratuitous. 

Buck shrugs, blinking his eyes. His name on the forged documents is James Baer. It makes no difference to him what Barton calls him. 

“You know,” Barton adds. “Our real last names start with the same three letters. B-A-R. Isn’t that a hoot, man?” 

“Sure,” he says, still staring out the window. 

“We could open a bar, and call it the BARton and BARnes Bar. Bars Cubed.” 

 

“Yeah.”

*

Barnes is not fun. They’ve been driving for about an hour and a half, and he’s barely said a word.

“So, do you have any hobbies?” Clint asks. “I was thinking we could just watch some movies at the safehouse.” 

Barnes doesn’t even look his way, but at least he offers a shrug. He continues staring out the window, arms crossed, and face blank. 

Clint clicks his tongue. “I have this audiobook I’ve been listening to. I’ve been trying to learn Russian. If you don’t mind, I’m gonna put it on.” 

Barnes shrugs again and keeps glaring out the window. 

It only takes five minutes into the chapter for Barnes to correct him in pronunciation . 

Clint continues through the chapter with Barnes intermittently correcting him before the tablet dings. Barnes slips it from his bag and turns it on. “Wilson and Steve made it to the Embassy. Press conference will begin soon after.” 

He lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Any word from the Girls?” 

“They won’t have made it yet. Well, just now, Wanda sent a thumbs up picture.” 

“You mean an Emoji? Or an actual picture of her thumb?” Clint asks. There is a big difference. 

“It’s a drawing,” Barnes says. 

“So an Emoji?” 

“Sure.” Barnes clicks the tablet off and slides it back into its sleeve. “Whatever that is.” 

Clint sighs. “Good thing they made it. One group down, two to go.” 

“Yeah, it’s good. That they made it.” 

Clint’s busy looking at the road because he’s not like one of those movie-fools that just has conversations in the car facing the other person. It’s pitch fucking black outside. But, for a teeny-tiny second, Clint sees Barnes smile. A short, curl of his lip. 

After a moment to process the good news, Clint turns the volume back up on the book. 

Clint’s stomach growls. Barnes looks at him like Clint just insulted his mother. “Really?” 

“Shouldn’t you be hungrier than me? I mean Cap’s gotta eat like all the time, so at least I guess you would as well. Besides, I’m a growing boy,” he rants. 

Barnes blinks. “Um.” he digs through his duffle and throws a protein bar into his lap. “It’s chocolate flavored. If that matters.” 

Clint tears the wrapper off with his teeth and bites in. It tastes fucking terrible. “What other flavors are there?” 

“Let me see,” Barnes mumbles before reading off, “Peanut butter. Vanilla. Lemon.” 

If chocolate tastes like fucking cardboard, he doesn’t want to know about the others. 

“That should last you long enough. We should be getting there soon.” 

Clint hopes so. He’d rather not have to eat another one.

*

Their safehouse is _okay_. It’s nothing fancy really. It’s in a wooded area with a long, winding driveway. Dead leaves covered up most of the gravel driveway. It looks more like a cabin than a house: wood and brick on the outside. There’s even a dingy welcome mat in front of the door. A bunch of neglected flowers in pots line up the stairs to the porch. Weeds cover the front yard. The house has curtains over the windows.

If Natasha hadn’t told Buck that the windows were bulletproof and that a state-of-the-art security system lined every inch of the place, he wouldn’t believe it otherwise. 

Barton blindly pats along the bricks by the door before he finds the correct one. “I do this every time,” he laments before the brick slides away to reveal a keypad. Barton punches in the code and shoves his eye in front of the camera before the door unlocks with a groan. 

“She looks a little saggy and tired, but she’s stable as ever,” Barton insists as they walk in. 

The den matches the exterior in the sense that it’s rustic. The furniture looks like Barton grabbed it from a thrift store or someone’s yard sale: a plaid couch with needlepoint pillows of ducks and deers, a wooden coffee table, and an aged TV set. A shelf stuffed with VHS tapes lines one of the walls. The living room blends into the kitchen. There’s a wooden round table with only three chairs right in the middle of the no man’s land where the kitchen meets the living room. The fridge looks outdated, and all the cabinets are wooden. 

Buck’s stayed in much worse. 

Barton leads them to a hallway on the left with four closed doors. “Pick a door, any door.” Buck points at the door on the left closest to them. “No, well, that’s the closet. Pick another door, any door but that one.” Buck points again to the left but at the door farther down. “Excellent choice!” 

Buck heads over to his new bedroom and opens the door. It’s design is like the den’s: a full sized bed with a plaid quilt, a wooden dresser, and some paintings of wildlife and nature on the walls. There’s a radiator under the window, and the blinds are closed. 

Barton hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be right across, and the other door is the bathroom.” He leaves to go unpack his bags. “We can go get groceries soon.” 

“I’ll make a list,” Buck calls after him. 

He picks up his phone and types a private message to Steve: “We made it. Love you.”

*

Clint tosses his duffle onto the bed. He whips out his Special Secret Wakandan Phone and taps out a message to the group. “b and b made it to safehouse yahoo!!!!!”

“Yahoo?” he hears Barnes mutter from across the hallway. Like he’s never said the word before and that it feels funny coming from his lips. “Yahoo?” 

Wanda sends a thumbs up emoji. “Natasha & I arrived” she adds. 

Clint kicks out of his shoes. It’s still fucking early in the morning, and he considers to just not unpack and just flop back on the bed and sleep. 

So, he does just that. He smushes his cheek against the pillow and closes his eyes. 

He’s drifting off when a disturbance startles him. 

“Barton,” and Barnes raps his metal knuckles on the hinge of the bedroom’s open door. “Groceries.” 

Clint sighs. “Okay.” He pushes himself up and rolls out of bed. “You made a list that fast?” 

Barnes furrows his eyebrows. “It’s been thirty minutes.” 

“Oh, wow.” Time flies when you’re half asleep. 

“I’ll drive,” Barnes says, and Clint hands him the keys after digging them from his pockets. “You look tired.”

*

They have a budget, he tells himself repeatedly. Buck made a reasonable list based off the utilities and stock in the kitchen. “We have a budget,” he tells Barton, again.

“Dude, it’s like three dollars. They’re jumbo Oreos, c’mon,” Barton insists, already putting the package into the cart. Buck had sent him off to get some crackers and chips in the snack aisle.

Buck sighs. “Okay.” He looks at his list. “Can you get us a two loaves of bread. Sliced. Get one tub of peanut butter.” 

“On it,” Barton says, and he heads off. 

Buck careens the cart towards the meat aisle. He noticed a Crockpot in one of the cluttered cabinets of the kitchen, and he figures they can make a large roast with a lower cut of meat. 

 

Barton drops off the bread and peanut butter, so he sends him off to get a gallon of milk and some coffee creamer. “Can I get chocolate milk, too?” Barton offers more than asks. 

“Okay,” he resigns himself. He grabs a four pound bone-in pork shoulder cut, and he stops by the baking aisle to get some seasoning packets. This new century is very convenient, he thinks selecting one of the many packets. He grabs some chili powder and garlic salt while he’s at it. It’s a two for one, deal. Their budget will allow it. 

He swings the cart around a corner right into Barton. He’s found some cookie dough while getting the milk, it seems. 

“Fine,” Buck says before he asks. “Now, we need coffee.” 

“Instant or ground?” Barton asks, brow raised. 

“You pick,” Buck says. “I don’t know much we need; you seem to be the expert on that.” 

When he returns with two big Maxwell House containers of ground coffee, he’s not surprised.

“I have filters at the house,” Barton adds. He’s got a pink box of sweetener on top of the blue coffee, and he tosses it into the cart. 

They surprisingly end up under budget, and Barton is smug about it the whole walk back to the truck. They haul the bags into the backseat. 

“I mean, this enough to last us half the week, right?” Barton asks, strapping in. He’s got the oreos package opened in his lap, and he’s got three of them in his mouth. “We should be good.” 

 

“Okay,” Buck agrees. “I’ll start up the slowcooker when we get home.” 

Barton laughs. “BARnes and BARrton BARbeque.”

*

By noon, the groceries are put away, and Barnes has already started the pork roast. The smell wafts through the cabin.

“So, you wanna watch a movie or something? We could go fishing? There a bullseye outback if you want to shoot for a bit?” Clint offers, drinking a cup of coffee. Barnes’s is sitting on the main couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He’d been staring at some of the embroidered wildlife on the wall with a terrifying composure. Clint watched him; he didn’t blink for a full two minutes. Or, well, unless they blinked at the same time and Clint just didn’t notice because duh his eyes were closed. “We can watch some TV?” 

Barnes shrugs. The TV catches broadcast signals, so he takes the blocky remote and presses the power button The screen fizzes to life, and Clint settles onto the couch. He keeps a safe distance from Barnes, putting the remote in the no-man’s land cushion crack between them. A late morning show is wrapping up, and Clint watches the cheery newsladies bid him a farewell for the day. 

“Do you ever get, like, worried you’ll be watching the news or something, and then your name pops up? And you’re like, oh god what did I do?” Clint asks. 

Barnes grimaces. “Yeah. I’ve had an experience like that,” he offers. 

“That’s why I usually avoid the news. If it’s important, I’ll figure it out eventually. Or Natasha will tell me. One of those two things,” Clint explains. He thinks for a second. “Or like, the news will come to me. Remember when all that stuff with SHIELD went down in DC?” 

Barnes gives him a pointed look. “Yeah. I was there.” 

“Oh yeah,” Clint remembers. “Well, I didn’t even know half of that shit was going on until Natasha called me before her senate hearing. I was like, dude! I’ve been at home! You coulda called me!” 

Barnes stares at the screen. Clint, for a second, thinks he might have said something wrong when Barnes says, “That’s actually...kinda funny.” He has a small smile lifting from the side of his mouth. Then, he makes a raspy sound that Clint realizes is his laugh. 

Clint laughs with him. “Natasha didn’t find it funny,” he adds. “But, I mean, she has me on speed dial. She coulda at least _tried_.” 

The tablet dings. Natasha’s sent him: press conf begins in 2. all news stations playing 

Barnes sits up and grabs the remote. He flicks through the few channels they have until it lands on an image of an empty table in front of a bunch of microphones. There’s a black and purple backdrop. The upper corner says it’s live, and the rider at the bottom scrolls through a paragraph that Captain America and the Falcon are making a bold statement by protesting the Accords at the Wakandan Embassy. 

“Here we go,” Clint says, not realizing he’d tensed up until he let out an exhale.

*

Steve and Sam are doing fine. They’re good speakers. Personable. Respectable. Easy to identify with. Effortlessly eloquent. It’s going fine. Steve even threw in some charming little jokes. Bucky is crushing on him from the couch.

Then the question and answer portion begins, and Bucky wants to rip the damn needlepoint pillows in half. 

Well, some are fine. Easy. 

“Based on your experiences with government agencies, did you refuse to sign the Accords in fear that another fallout like the one in DC would occur?” 

“Is the act of enjoining enhanced beings like yourselves from exercising automony over your abilties a violation of your free will?” 

There are some questions clearly against them: 

“Do you consider enhanced individuals or Avengers deserving of special rights above the law?” one reporter asks, trying to sound unbiased but failing. 

“Have you ever considered paying reparations for the damages caused by Avengers? Who should foot the bill?” 

“Why do you think enhanced individuals should be able to operate without oversight?” 

Some questions clearly try to bait a reaction from Steve: 

“Will you confirm whether or not you know where the terrorist known as the Winter Soldier is hiding?” 

“The Scarlet Witch is not an American citizen, so how can we be sure she will act in our best interests?” 

“What is the current status of the Avengers? Is it true that Iron Man has expelled you both from the team?” 

And then some questions, because someone trying to really get a rouse out of Steve asks:

“Peggy Carter died only days before the Sokovia Accords were sanctioned by the United Nations. You refused to sign the document. How do you think Director Carter would have perceived the Accords?” 

or 

“The Winter Soldier was revealed to be your former Howling Commando Sergeant James Barnes due to the Black Widow’s information leak. His ties to HYDRA are obvious, so are you complicit in defending and harboring a former Nazi? And knowing this, can you claim to be in the right?” 

and the room goes quiet. Steve just stares at the reporter, and Bucky no longer has any interest in watching it anymore. He stands and walks right to his room. 

He doesn’t have a fit or get dramatic about it. He does the mature, rational thing and takes out his journal and starts writing.

*

Clint doesn’t blame Barnes for dipping during the press conference. It was a dick question, especially when Barnes cannot speak on his own behalf about it.

He changes the channel and watches a fake courtroom show that he gets way too invested in for a few hours. After his sixth cup of coffee, he feels restless enough to go shoot some arrows out back. He goes to his hallway closet and grabs a quiver and bow, and he heads outside. 

It’s chilly outside, and his target has fallen over since the last time he’d been here. He moves it to a tree a good fifty meters away and starts shooting.

*

Around dinner time, Buck got the alert on his tablet just as he shredding the roast. He left the device on the kitchen counter while he started toasting up some slices of bread to use as buns.

He ignored it, thinking it was a message. If it was important, Barton would have seen it by now and have made a conundrum. Buck continued preparing dinner, setting up two spots at the tiny table and finding two mismatched glasses to use for water. 

After he was done he called Barton in and they served themselves, Buck remembered the ding his tablet made.

And now, he rises from his spot at the table to retrieve it. “Getting seconds all ready?” Barton asks, mouth full. “This is really good, by the way.” Buck grabs the tablet and opens the message. He nearly drops the device when he reads it.

It’s from Shuri: hey so remember those names/ids u gave me a while back? of people on ur shit list??? u wanted me to run them through facial anaylsis ai program ive been tuning up etc etc. i got a hit earlier. dobry mikolaev. cctv footage shows him in erie this afternoon. i chcked it to make sure and it’s a match. i refined search to scan footage only from erie; found more on him. found footage from security camera at an apartment building also in erie. attached location below. i miss u boo

She attached the footage too, and Buck watches it to be sure. 

It is him. Buck’s heart starts racing, and his mind is full of white noise. 

“You good?” Barton asks, swallowing. 

Buck doesn’t even hear him. He rushes to his bedroom and starts packing without hesitation. His brain is on autopilot, and all he can think about is getting to Erie, _now_.

“Dude, what is going on?” Barton demands, standing in the doorway. 

Buck zips up his bag. “I have to go take care of something.” He moves to leave, but Barton places an abrasive hand on his arm. 

“I can’t let you do that, bro. Not unless you tell me what the fuck you’re doing,” Barton asserts, and it’s the first time Buck’s really seen him like this: aggressive. “You’re acting real weird, and I’m not into this shit you’re trying to pull, dude. So, what the fuck is going on?” 

Buck breathes out deep. “Fuck, alright. Let me explain.”

Barton likes that response and visibly relaxes. “Can you explain it at the table at least?” 

They go back to the table, but Buck is too antsy to sit back down. Barton does though and continues to eat his sandwich. 

“I gave Shuri a list of names,” he begins. “Names and faces of some HYDRA personnel that worked with me...personally.” 

“Personally?” Barton asks. 

“As in they had direct involvement with my torture, brainwashing, and handling of missions,” he clarifies. 

“Oh. Oh, wow. Please continue.” 

Buck opens and closes his fist. “Shuri has this artificial intelligence apparatus she’s been working on, and she’s programmed it to be able to recognize facial characteristics with huge accuracy.” 

“Why did she make that? That’s some 1984 shit,” Clint remarks. 

“She’d first used it to locate poachers or criminals who had been known to try and sneak into Wakanda with fake aliases and sell vibranium on the black market. Now, she’s using it for me. To track down some very terrible individuals who not only hurt me but countless others, including Natasha. It was more of a hope than a plan. There’s too much footage being recorded for her to ping someone down. I knew it likely wouldn’t do anything. But she found one today.” He shows the message to Barton along with the the information about Mikolaev. Barton reads it, his face contorting as he grew more and more disturbed by Mikolaev’s history in HYDRA. 

“This is a fucked up guy,” he says, pushing the tablet away. He doesn’t look hungry anymore because he pushes his plate away as well. “And he’s in Pennsylvania. We are too.” 

“Exactly,” Buck sighs. “That’s why I wanted to get the fuck outta here to go take care of him.” 

Barton kneads at his temple. “How come a guy like that is able to just...blend back into the world like he’s done nothing,” he asks, not looking for an answer. “How fucked is that?” 

“Very,” Buck agrees. “So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go pay him a final visit.”

Barton shakes his head and looks sorry about it. “I get it man, I really do. But I still can’t let you leave.”

Buck sputters and scoffs. “Like hell you can’t!? I’m not a fucking hostage, here.” 

Barton consider that. “No, you’re not. Well, more like a hostage to a promise you made to our friends who will kick both of our asses if you go do this.” 

Buck huffs. “Look, I get that. We’re supposed to stick together. We’re battle buddies. Got it. So, why don’t you come with me? We’ll watch each other’s back.” 

“I mean, that’d...work?” Barton starts. “I mean, we’re supposed to stick together _here_ to do translating and decrypting. Going on a hit-and-run kind of visit with this guy, who yes I know is very horrible, is not gonna fly with the others.” 

Buck sighs. He doesn’t know Barton too well, but he’s never taken him to be someone who follows the rules to a T. “What if we don’t tell them?” 

Barton’s eyes go wide, scandalized. “I don’t know, man. I mean-” 

Buck stamps his foot like he’s rearing to have a tantrum. “Look. I know we are supposed to stay here. I know that. Got it. But something tells me that you’re not always one to play by the rules. And I’m certainly not planning to. If you wanna stay and watch your VHS tapes and snuggle with your needlepoint pillows, then fine. I’m gonna go track down this motherfucker whether you come with me or not.” 

Barton blinks at him. “Dude, you’re like an angrier, less eloquent Steve when it comes to speeches.” Barnes looks like he’s about to short circuit. Clint relents, “Look, I agree. Alright? We should go after this guy. I don’t like sitting around with a thumb up my ass either. But-” 

“What?” Buck demands, exasperated. 

“They’ll be mad at us,” Barton says. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of Natasha’s wrath, but it is not pretty, dude.” 

Buck rolls his eyes. “People are always mad at me. I’m used to it.” 

“But like, she gets really scary, bro, when you piss her off.” Barton appears to have a flashback but quickly blocks it out with the shake of his head. 

Buck finally flops against into his chair at the table, frustrated to the point his muscles are relaxed. “Then what if we ask for her permission? Would that make you feel better?” 

“Well, yeah,” he admits. “But, we’d have to tell the others.” 

Buck rolls his eyes again. “No, we don’t. If Steve finds out we left, he’ll come drag us back here himself. Only Natasha knows.” 

“We compartmentalize?” Barton clarifies. 

“Yes, exactly” Buck agrees. “She does that best.” 

“This is such a dick move,” Barton says.

“It’s a dick move worth taking.” Buck looks across the table at him and offers his metal hand. “So, you in?” 

Barton fist bumps him. “Let’s go get him.” Then a pause. “Well, after we call Natasha first.” 

So they do that. 

“So, what you’re saying...is that you want to go on a super secret side mission. One that no one can know about,” Natasha deadpans. “And yet, you’re telling me?” 

“Exactly,” Barton says. Buck gives him a hand-sign meaning ‘okay’ both in a genuine or sarcastic way. 

“Okay,” she says slowly. Like she’s either about to descend in a fit of laughter or rage. “Can you tell me _why_?” 

Buck sighs. He let Barton do the talking because he absolutely insisted. “She’ll go easier on me!” he said. “Let me talk to her.” 

In all honesty, Buck still didn’t see the point in calling Natasha. She would have it figured out anyway. 

Because, he and Natasha have been compartmentalizing something themselves. In Wakanda, days after Shuri erased the triggers in his head, Buck came to Natasha’s quarters with a proposition. “I need to ask something of you,” he said to her, and she frowned. 

“What is it?” she asked, and she walked them out to the patio of her room. They overlooked the vast glory of Wakanda, the sky streaking red and pink as the sun lowered to kiss to the horizon. 

“I trust you,” he started. “I trust you to take me out if it ever came to that.” He flexed his one hand around the railing. “You would be level-headed about it. Not like Steve could be.” 

She nodded. “So, what are you asking?” 

He explained that he wanted her to be able to track him down. “I’ll implant a tracker in my right arm. Shuri showed me where. I would want you to be the only one to be able to locate me. If it ever came to that.” 

“Not anyone else?” she clarified.

“Only you and Shuri would know.” He shrugged his shoulder. “I know you won’t abuse it, and like I said, I know you’re the one I’d trust to be smart about it.” 

Natasha pursed her lips. “I’ll agree to it. But,” she started. He met her eyes. “How about, I get one, too? One that only you can track down?” 

Buck had not expected that. “Why?” he asked, not sure what she was getting at. 

“As a sign of trust,” she said. “And friendship.” 

They shook hands on it. Shuri injected the tracker into their arms. “Is this a weird America way of getting matching tattoos?” she teased. She handed them a Wakandan tablet. “Here. Set up a password and a biometric. You’ll need to use this kind of device to do it. Believe it or not, they don’t have this type of app in the App Store.” 

“Well,” Barton starts. “Barnes here said that he’s located a quote unquote ‘former friend of yours.’ And, we need to like, get him.” 

Buck can picture Natasha’s eyes narrowing when she asks, “Who is this former friend? Give the phone to James.” 

Even though they’re on speaker, Clint pushes the phone closer to Buck. He tell hers, “Shuri located Mikolaev. He’s in western Pennsylvania.” 

Natasha is quiet. After a moment, she says quietly, “Really?” 

He can hear the weight of the question. Disbelief. A flooding of memories, none pleasant. A burden lifting off her shoulder. Pain. 

“Yes, darling,” he confirms. “Shuri sent me a video from a security camera. She had some AI scanning facial recognition on a whole lotta people. This one matched. It was an hour ago.” 

Natasha is still quiet. “That’s...quite a find.” 

“So, you get why we need to go visit this friend?” Buck asks. 

“I do,” Natasha agrees. “But, it’s too risky.” 

Barton says, “Nat, we are literally three hours from this guy. It’s a quick trip. Back and forth.” 

“Darling,” he starts. “I’ve had that shitface on my list for _years_. We gotta go take him out.” 

Natasha huffs “I don’t know, James. With Sam and Steve just having that press conference, people will be more-” 

Barton adds, “Nat, c’mon. I mean, he’s not too far from us. We’ll be careful. It’s the right thing to do. Just say you’re cool with it.” 

Natasha doesn’t respond. Buck’s run out of patience. He snatches the phone up to his ear. “Listen to me,” he says in Russian. 

He disables the speaker much to Barton’s indignant squawk. “Not cool! Speak English, at least!” 

Buck ignores him. “Darling, you know I have the tracker on me.” 

“I do,” she replies, in similar tongue. 

“So you know that if things go wrong, you can track me down.” 

“Yes, James, that is what a tracker does,” Natasha gripes. “My only objective here is that you are both safe and accounted for. And I don’t think Steve would-” 

“Don’t bring Steve into this. Don’t.” He warns. “This isn’t about him. He’s not going to know, and you’re not going to tell him. Or anyone. We called you because Barton insisted. This is simply a courtesy call, really. I am going after him whether or not you want me to. I can go by myself. It makes no difference to me. But, I know you’d rather Barton come with me. And he won’t come unless you allow it.” 

Natasha scoffs. “You’re gonna force my hand, James?” 

“Darling, what he did to me. Did to you. Did to so many others...I don’t care how blunt I have to be.” Buck didn’t mean to have his voice break. “Please.” 

She considers it. “I want an hourly update. I want visual confirmation that you’ve located him. I want confirmation he has been decommissioned. I want to know exactly when you leave and when you return back to the safehouse.” 

“Of course,” Buck agrees, giving Barton a thumbs up. Barton pumps his fist at the news. 

“Did you not stay in Wakanda because you thought you might find him? Or another doomed soul in your hit list?” she asks quietly. 

“Yes.” Buck sighs. “If nothing came up, I would have stayed and been good the whole week. Now, I can’t. I gotta go get him, darling.” 

“I know you do.” She pauses. “Steve will kill us both if he finds out.” 

He scoffs. “If I did only what makes Steve happy, I’d be in Wakanda tending to my flock.” 

“Put me back on speaker,” she says, “Let me talk to Clint.” 

She more or less repeats her conditions to him. 

When they hang up, Buck and Barton strategize their move. They’ll leave in the hour, drive to Erie, try to figure out which unit Mikolaev is in, have a friendly visit, and then leave after cleaning up after themselves like polite guests. “We don’t have to y’know, kill him,” Barton says, as Buck pulls out of the driveway. “He’s a very old man, now. We can interrogate him. See if he can tell us anything.” 

Buck considers that. “I’ll consider that.” 

They drive off to Erie, armed and ready.

*

Natasha stirs her tea with a spoon aimlessly. Wanda had already headed to go up to her room in the safehouse for an early turn in. They’d made some great progress already.

She receives an alert on her tablet and checks it. It’s an hourly update from Clint and James. Clint’s taken a selfie from the passenger seat with a stone faced James staring straight ahead at the road. Clint accompanied the photo with “we r still driving. As u can see’ 

She can see. 

Natasha clicks off the tablet and checks the time. It’s barely 22:00. They still have ways to go. 

“Keep me posted,” she sends back. She finishes her tea and puts the cup in the sink to wash later. She decides to head up for bed. “Call me if things go wrong.” 

Clint sends back a heart emoji and a thumbs up. 

She smiles, changing into her nightgown. 

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she crawls into her bed for the week. It’s not bad, all things considered. It’s a twin bed with a thin quilt, but it works. She puts the tablet on her bedside tablet, and she closes her eyes. 

“God, I just hope things work out,” she thinks as she drifts asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: Oh boy, are things gonna go wrong!


End file.
